


Five Kinks and a Turn-Off

by Ilthit



Category: Psych
Genre: Camping, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gay Bar, Guns, M/M, Meme, Oral Sex, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-15
Updated: 2011-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six Psych ficlets based on my kinks and turn-offs - "kink" here basically meaning "what I like to read about in fic".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kinks and a Turn-Off

**Who's Boss**

(Turn-on: dominant women)

It's not exactly sex. She told her husband about it, and he's fine with it as long as she keeps her clothes on and doesn't fall in love. She told him that's the last thing he needs to worry about.

"We talked about this, detective." Karen leans on her desk and crosses her arms. "Five separate times within one day that you've fired your gun? Five?"

"I'm sorry, Chief, I--"

"Close the blinds."

Lassiter gives her one of those cornered looks of his, but he does as he's told.

"On your knees."

He obeys. It's much better this way – with him looking up at her.

"Give me your badge."

Slowly, he reaches inside his jacket. "Move it," she commands, and he pulls out the badge and offers it to her.

"And your gun."

This time she doesn't tell him to hurry. She wouldn't. This is the best part.

She watches him undo the buttons of his jacket and pull it aside. He's wearing blue suspenders today. He pops open the strap of the shoulder holster and wraps his fingers around the handle of his gun. Hesitates. "You will--" he starts, but she lifts a warning finger and he shuts up. She turns her hand over, palm up.

He pulls the gun out with a hiss of metal on leather and puts it in her hand.

She checks to make sure the safety is on, then points it at his head.

He goes on the ground and puts his hands on his head.

She holds still for a moment, then lets go of a long sigh and puts the gun down on the desk. "All right, Carlton."

He gets up. She helps adjust his jacket and hands him back his badge and gun. "Next week, let's see if you can go a couple of days without discharging your weapon, hmm?"

"Thank you, Chief," he says, and his voice is shaking, and it's... it's kind of great.

She knows this is a relief to him, she knows it. She won't look into it any deeper than that or try to figure out all the complexities of his mind and heart. After all, he's her subordinate. And she's married.

She rounds her desk and sits down, picking up the folder opened across it. "That'll be all, detective." She doesn't look up again.

He closes the door quietly behind him.

-

 **Squirm**

(Turn on: making your partner orgasm)

Shawn could write a book about what's wrong with him and Abby, if he wrote books. He could talk about it for at least an hour over a beer, if he ever talked about him and Abby, or about, you know, feelings in general. The point is there are a lot of things he knows about the two of them that don't work or that get in the way or scare him, not the least of which is how they always talk about everything.

That's the thing with Abby, she always wants to talk and she's so serious and so perceptive. He's almost absolutely positive she knows that the psychic thing is a hoax, but she doesn't say it, she just looks at him a certain way and appears to accept whatever reality he decides to hand to her without actually committing to it.

She is unflappable. Shawn isn't sure what to do with a girl who won't flap.

So, when possible, he just skips all the hand-holding stuff and goes right to the sex because there is no girl he's ever come across who won't flap at his swirly-rub combo. Not only does Abby flap at that, she grabs the clothes rack and rattles it and kicks his arm in an involuntary motion until he has to grab her bottom to hold her still while he kneels in front of her under the shirts, his nose buried in her warm moistness.

The way she shudders after it's over, out of breath and shaken and still clinging like life to the clothes rack, and the way she slides down and into his lap and kisses him sloppily...

You know how there are all these advertising jingles that are basically saying "Hello you, you didn't know you needed this, but boy, you sure do"? Sometimes they're right, too. Shawn remembers the first time he learned of the existence of back-scratchers, and now he can't imagine ever not having had a back-scratcher. Or, you know how sometimes you've been tensing your muscles and you don't even know it until something makes you stop and relax?

When Abby's all flapped and come apart and kissing him, it's like a knot of tension unravels at his center, showing up everything that's wrong with him in the light of what could be right. He feels loved. He feels safe. For about a minute.

It's never going to last.

-

 **A List of Things Never To Tell Gus**

(Turn on: chemistry and queerness)

1\. The Lassiter dream. Should never have told him about the fireman dream. This one's worse. Especially since there was this whole thing about being rescued from bad guys and hot chocolate and being nuzzled. That is just not right. Especially since it kinda sounds just like a normal week for them, except for the nuzzling.  
2\. He probably knows this, but better stay away from the subject of how good his head feels to touch. Or at least make it jokey. Certainly never rub it for more than five seconds at a time. At least not late at night when you're all alone at the office. Note to self: Make a "things never to do to Gus" list.  
3\. The existence of this list or the potential one about the things not to do to Gus.  
4\. Should never mention the Joy thing again. Certainly never discuss why I think it happened because that's just sick, even for me. Note to self #2: Make a list of things never to tell Joy.  
5\. What happened with Luc in Paris.  
6\. That Luc exists or that he is basically a French Gus.  
7\. The fact that I secretly wanted to marry him since I was seven and only figured out that I couldn't when I was 14 or so.  
8\. The fact that I would still marry him if it wasn't for the whole sex thing and the fact he'd say no and then hate me.  
9\. That I still remember that school camping trip when we shared a tent, and that I wasn't asleep that time he was having some Gus-time in his sleeping bag, and I was pretty sure he was thinking about that hot lady swimming instructor, and I also shouldn't mention that I know how to do it quietly and I did it while I listened to him doing it, and that I wasn't thinking about the swimming instructor.  
10\. That I'm still scared he'll go away one day.

-

 **Lunch**

(Turn on: women giving off masculine signals)

"Sorry to drag you off like that."

Barbara Dunlop gave Carlton Lassiter a crooked smile over her black coffee. They were sitting near the back of the room in the cop bar just across the street from the department. It was close to lunch hour and the place was packed.

She was still in her uniform. Carlton could hardly take his eyes off her. "It was my pleasure," he said, and meant it.

He liked her. He really liked her, in a deep, very sexual way that dug right into his gut. She was just so... tall. And so... powerful. She had that old mariner's walk and a touch of sea-salt in her hair. He could imagine her in a creaking old wooden ship, like in those Horatio Hornblower stories he used to read as a boy. She would keep a tight but happy ship. He bet her voice carried well over stormy weather, too.

"So, how long have you been with the force?" she asked.

He leaned over his half-eaten bacon sandwich and crossed his fingers. "All my life. At least all the years that matter."

She gave him a quizzical look. "No life before the Academy? What about your parents?"

He shook his head. "I'm a cop. That's all I am."

She frowned. He was losing her.

He sighed and picked up his sandwich. It wasn't like he was surprised. He should count himself lucky, really, if she never wanted to see him again. A woman like that could break him into pieces. Figuratively and literally, split him right down the middle and let all his guarded, soft parts spill out.

But, oh, she could just about be worth it.

-

 **In Which Shawn Is the One With the Scruples (At First)**

(Turn on: risk of discovery)

"No, no, nonononono."

Joy grinned. He said that, but he was still following, his socks shuffling along on the wooden floor. He wasn't letting go of her hands, either. She kept walking backwards.

"He's the only one we know for sure won't be back early," she argued. "He also has a lock on door. You know it makes sense."

"What's wrong with your room?"

"Too obvious."

"What about the car? We could take it to the drive-in." She arched an eyebrow. He thought better of it. "Forget I mentioned that."

"It's the living room couch, or Gus's bedroom. My folks could be home in half an hour, Shawn. Choose."

His fingers tightened on her hands, and he stopped shuffling. She could see his mouth fall partly open, noticed him blink, and most importantly how his eyes glazed over.

"Gus's room..." she tried, taking a step back. He frowned and stayed put. Okay, no then. "...Or the living room." She took a step forward. He let out a short breath.

"The living room it is," she said, laughing, and pushed him back towards it.

-

 **A Scene Like Any Other**

(Turn off: chasers)

"Chief Vick, I promise you, they got it all wrong!" Shawn protested. This time they'd actually clapped him and Gus in irons. It was downright insulting. The only reason he hadn't picked the lock on them yet was that he respected them as a symbol of incarceration, and also the fact that he didn't have a lock-pick on him at that particular moment.

"I sure hope so," said Chief Vick, crossing her arms and eyeing them both. "Weren't you supposed to be on a missing person's case?"

"We are, and we were," said Gus, placating. "It was just a little misunderstanding. You see, Shawn here had the idea that it wouldn't look odd at all if we did a tour of the local gay bars and asked everybody where we could find a fat man."

"I'm beginning to get the picture." The chief's expression was melting into amusement.

"It's an innocent question!" Shawn said. "The guy was fat and gay and dug the club scene and he was missing. What else were we supposed to do?"

"It got out of hand when Shawn kept asking this one guy pointed questions."

"He was kind of fat-ish, not really fat, but he looked like the photo, so I asked him if he'd lost weight recently, if his diet had changed, that sort of thing."

"So then this guy asked Shawn if Shawn was a feeder."

"And I didn't know what that meant so I said yes!"

"Turned out the guy didn't like that, and neither did his boyfriend. Something about how his sister dated a feeder who wouldn't let her leave the house."

"So we got into a little fight, so what?" Shawn shrugged his shoulders, as spreading his hands wasn't an option. "The good news is we may have uncovered a domestic violence case."

"Fine," Vick sighed. "McNab, I may regret this later, but let them loose."

"Yes!" Shawn did a little dance, then stood still to let Buzz uncuff him.

"Get out," the chief added, and the boys did.

"Wanna go back for a late snack?" Shawn asked as they wandered back down the hall. "That second to last place had a great sandwich selection."


End file.
